These Remains
by Kyence
Summary: Track 7. The Queen of Dhm longs for a child, and Zarkon recruits Hagar for the task, but at what price?
1. The Human Soul is Always Free

My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult: _I See Good Spirits & I See Bad Spirits_

**Theme: Doomite backstories of youth**

**These Remains**, by Buzz McCoy and Groovie Mann (MLTKK)

Published by SleazeBox Music / BMI

Disclaimer: All characters are property of World Events Productions.

Date Completed: 09/22/08

**Part I: "The Human Soul is Always Free..."**

"Everyone who isn't the pregnant Queen of Dhm, OUT!" The guards' eyes lit up in fear as much as Her Majesty's servants' and ladies'-in-waiting did. They quietly ushered themselves out, not matching the shouter's gaze; due to his size, it would require an overarching neck, so avoidance was no difficult task. Queen Borrhéan gave a thin smile as she dreamily rubbed her belly, which had yet to show any apparent signs of impending motherhood. Her blue eyes focused on the bloodied clothes of her husband and the head gripped by his right hand.

She sighed, "That was my favorite arena fighter," shaking her head. "Had six arms, and always ended his fights quickly and mercifully."

Her husband's reply was said fighter's head thrown at her feet, with the calculated force to splatter her sky blue dress with coagulating ooze. She groaned in disgust, managing to downplay the dangerous tension a moment longer. "Still messy, though." She kept the emotion on her face constant as she looked up into her husband's eyes, his yellow, dark slit eyes. "I can see you want to talk about this?"

He scowled, marching up to her, gingerly removing his dirtied, black gloves. With a flourish, he dropped each one onto the floor, each sound a slap as it met the puddle of robeast blood between them. "Maybe...maybe you should remove the outer layer of clothing, too, Zarkon. It's been sullied as well," she offered, knowing full well that he killed that particular robeast so he wouldn't do the same to her. He did not lose his temper in such a way all that often, but when he did, it was absolute abandon. In a strange way, it showed he cared.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he refused snidely. He gripped both arms of her ornate chair, leaning, hovering over her like an eclipse blocking out the room's light. The violet glow blazing from his eyes was the only source she now had, hypnotic, she looked straight into them. "I cannot believe you disobeyed me like this. I distinctly told you NOT to fool around with Fertility-grade Lazon. I told you I would name a successor when it was time. What gall have you festered to challenge me in this, the worst possible way?"

"My...my sister has given birth to a son, Taybor," Borrhéan stammered. "He has the blood to be considered the rightful heir to Planet Tyrus if I, you, we, remain childless! Doing this will prevent future complications."

"I have recently conquered the desert planet, Nemone: I'll send them there. A nice arid climate will boil away any threat you think they pose. You are horrible at politics, Borrhéan, don't feign competence before an expert," he sneered, fangs glistening from the sides of his mouth. "You wanted a child of your own for far more personal, selfish reasons, my dear." He released his grip on the chair; the cracked lacquer was evidence of his strength. He held her chin in his one hand, stroking stray strands of her long blond hair with the other. He started standing up, she did the same, until she was on the tips of her toes. He continued slowly. "Maternal Instinct never has any common sense behind it." Her feet had since left the floor, the weight of her body pulling against her slender neck. "Have you given any thought to what that Lazon can do to an offspring of two mismatched people like us?" Zarkon asked quietly. Borrhéan could not reply, all her attention was trying to breathe as pain encroached her. "Would you discard such a creature when it bursts from your loins a massive deformity? Would you leave such a monstrosity for me to handle, while you tend to your perfect little nephew? Is that your justification for this betrayal of yours?"

Her lips turned purple; he delicately lowered her until her feet flatly touched the floor. She wrenched away, gasping for air. "Our child will be beautiful, no matter what it comes out looking like," she managed defiantly in between deep breaths.

He chuckled, "Because it will be yours?"

"No, because it will be OURS!" she shouted at him. She didn't regret doing so, though anybody that dared yell at King Zarkon in the past had a death wish. Instead of a belligerent reply, or sarcastic remark, or physical demonstration of violence, he took a step back. His face looked horrified and confused.

She saw this as an opportunity to appeal to the well-guarded mystery surrounding the being, no, man, she had wholeheartedly agreed to marry five Tyrusian years ago. "Why do you always challenge my feelings for you? Why do you always insist that I aim to harm or deceive you? Why do you hide as much about you as you can away from me? We have been intimate and I have never seen nor felt your body in the five years we've been together..."

"Enough of this," he groaned, turning his back on her.

"It is not normal for a husband and wife to be like this, even royal ones," she pushed the point, her feminine voice flowing with emotion. "I don't care if you have to be this way to everyone else, but to me, your closest companion, I should have the right, the honor, to truly know you." She walked in quick strides to stand in front of him before he could leave.

"Trust me, you wouldn't want that," he admitted, refusing to look at her. "Few people can tolerate me for long. I commend you for keeping your sanity as long as you have, Borrhéan, but your attempts to humanize me will always end in failure. There is nothing you can ever do that will change me, so if that fantasy is what has been keeping you around, find another hobby that doesn't involve my psyche or fashion sense and fly back to Tyrus and preserve my interests there," he concluded, now deciding was the perfect time to grin in her face. "You have always been beautiful, yet delusional, my dear. Especially that sixth finger of yours," he added looking at the hand that bore it.

She blanched, hating the reminder of the polydactyly that resurfaced in her blood line every generation. She had eleven toes and a tail as well, and it had always been a topic of conversation among the royal gossipers so much that when she was officially introduced into Denubian royal society, most of them were convinced she had lobster feet and a conjoined twin growing from her back. Not surprisingly, the only person who didn't seem to give the rumors much credence was King Zarkon, someone who even among his own subjects was freakish. His countenance was as terrifying as his height and his exploits, and once he had announced his courtship of her, the nasty rumors and looks stopped. Some were replaced with ones of pity, but she felt no shame, and for the first time in her life, a sense of kinship. He was someone who endured ridicule and odds to become a powerful ruler; he never spoke of his past, but she knew it was there, a big part of his ambitious drive. Imperfection dominating over perfection, the idea was contagious, to prove to those that thought themselves infallible could be cast down by the very ones they had cast out of their circle: wonderful, bittersweet!

He had been surprised at her enthusiasm over the courtship, and had designed clever ways to test her limits. Exotic foods derived from the strangest parts of Dhm's fauna, explaining esoteric customs and then have her flounder through them an hour later and try to diplomatically apologize any misinterpretations got from them, even once going so far as to suggest who tailored her dress since he may want something in his size. She passed each and every trial, not willing to lose and walk away a spinster for life, but more significantly, she was intrigued by someone so unlike anybody she had ever known. When he showed her his odd collection of small trinkets and jars of preserved malformed animals, some quite young, she knew she was in and marriage was imminent; he had been wary when she asked to wear the battered pendant made of gunmetal, but he had relented and let her do so to this day.

Upon thinking of the formaldehyde coffins, she renewed her resolve to convince him that their child would be nothing like that collection. It was only after they were married did he reveal he wanted no children from their biological union, and that he would pick a successor. He had been so certain she would be relieved of worrying about producing a faulty heir that he could not comprehend the rejection she felt. The Fertility Lazon was a trick traditionally used by the Dhmk to strengthen livestock, conjure up new agricultural breeds and robeasts for old tribal warfare; nowadays, it was also used to allow children from Dhmk and Duonulans. Fecundity was varied, but made fertile children possible as well; an occasional mutant stillborn seemed well worth the risk to many such couples, and helped unify the Kingdom more. Few bothered to try with humans, which were once regarded in much the way gorillas were by her race. Those attitudes were changing rapidly, no doubt by her marriage. Zarkon had chosen a human bride for many reasons: he obtained a wealthy planet under his jurisdiction with no bloodshed, he did not show a preference for Dhmk or Duonulans, thereby preventing any worries of ethnic bias on his policies, and as she had since learned most importantly, made it virtually impossible for him to naturally have a child. To others it may be the strangest crusade to pick, but she was certain that she could give him a perfect child, and prove to him that he had more to offer a child than not. She knew he would be happier for it; he just needed someone brave enough to push him. She ground up the lazon and drank it with her tea each day, convincing her husband to share it with her every so often. Painfully researching Duonulan aphrodisiacs, she coupled that with a select group of Duonulan dancers that were throwbacks, though none as ancient a lineage as his, and proceeded to construct a grand birthday celebration for him that lasted a typically long Dhmk week. Needless to say, it worked, and here she was, in the decisive battle of the war.

"Am I truly so horrible?" she whispered.

"No, Borrhéan, it's not you. It never HAS been about **you**," he looked at her lower abdomen, shrugging his broad shoulders. "So, how far along are you?"

"I'm not exactly sure...but it was around the week of your birthday," she smiled. He did not, lifting his crown off his head so he could pull at his skunk-plumed hair, tightly coiled to sit neatly within his ostentatious display of power. "Curse you," he said in between snarls. She could tell that the malice was aimed inward at his perceived lack of self-control. He unwound the knot, squeezing the bound tail of hair. "You have already filled your quota of ripping one head off today, my husband," she played. He glared at her. "This is serious, Borrhéan! This could be catastrophic!" He noisily sat down in her favorite chair, too tight a fit for him to comfortably accommodate his tall form in numerous layers of clothing, but she easily guessed the inevitable blood smears were his main intention. "What are my options?" he asked aloud. He looked at her with an inquiring eye. "There's always a chance you could spontaneously miscarry, you know."

She crossed her arms. "I'm still taking the Lazon."

He sniffed. "Not anymore you're not. Henceforth, any food or drink or vitamin supplement of yours is getting a Lazon litmus test."

She pulled up another chair in her lounge, propping it next to his. She elegantly sat into it, folding her hands on her lap. "If you are concerned, I am all for prenuptial care, Zarkon. Karyotype testing, DNA testing...engineering augmentation," she bit her lip at the last part.

"Heh, not in this Empire."

"You can't be serious about that. Every pregnancy needs to be monitored and," her argument stopped in her throat as he stood up and went to the door.

"As I said, not in this Empire." He turned to look at her. "Clean yourself up, pack something light, and leave a list of provisions to be sent later by ship. You are going on a trip."


	2. Some people keep secrets

These Remains

**by Kyence**

**Song by Buzz McCoy & Groovie Mann**

Published by SleazeBox Music / BMI

Vocals - Groovie Mann

Keys & Programming – Buzz McCoy

**Part II: Some people keep secrets**

"Uh-oh, someone's trying to misuse one of your spells again," the blue familiar meowed as he leaped into his witch's arms. He wrinkled his whiskered nose. "An old spell, too, whoo! Long time since you used that incantation."

Hagar's flaxen brows furrowed, bringing out the small lines in her green forehead. "Oh really? Which one? What's the tracker's odor?" She scratched Coba behind the ears before placing him on the floor of her laboratory so she could turn back to focusing on mixing her latest experiment properly.

Coba sniffed the ether. "Cinnamon and borax. You're personal favorite, I believe."

Hagar knocked a test tube over, spilling the contents over her long crimson sleeve. She cursed as she cast a quick spell to removed the stain, though the compound was now useless. "That's my old omni-teleportation spell. Haven't had the opportunity to make more of them. I still have twenty Apodian years to go, which in other words, means..."

"...it's gonna be a LOOONNNNGGG time before you can sell any of those gold rings," Coba mewed.

Hagar nodded. "Who was the person I gave it to?" She tapped her lab table, coming the conclusion the same time as her magical feline.

"Shai's Wayward!"

"Has been a long time, then."

"Think his ears got any bigger?" Coba twitched his for effect.

"Not as big as that boy's ego, I'm sure," Hagar cackled. "I'm affronted that he hasn't contacted me for my services in all these years, and now tries to eke two spells out of one."

Coba sat with his forearms straight, his right legs flat. Yawning as if suddenly disinterested, he quipped, "So what are you going to do?"

Hagar wordlessly stretched out her arm, her wooden staff summoned into it. "Let's see what the little Inalegan wants. I'll give the spell the extra boost it needs to accommodate two bodies."

"Technically three."

Hagar looked down at Coba. "Three?"

Coba's eyes glowed as he checked with his brethren still in the astral plane. "Yup. Three. Wayward's got a problem of the paternal kind."

Hagar laughed wickedly. "It's times like this I'm glad I keep you around."

"It's times like this I'm glad I stick around."

Her staff glowed as she began the enhancement spell; like a beacon, it would find the other spell, mingle with it, and pull the invokers here. "It is done."

"I'll greet them in the foyer," Coba stretched before walking. In moments, he came rushing back. "Holy crap, he's huge!" He curled around Hagar's legs. "Umm, you first."

The witch stepped over his tail. "He's Inalegan, of course he's tall."

"You also said he was a friggin' half-breed or something. Where's the other half, he ATE it?"

She stepped into her modest foyer, sterile, with sparse photographic displays of her notable achievements and favorite creations of hers. She found herself enjoying the anticipation: how had he turned out? And who could have fallen for him? Even among Apodians he was considered unattractive; hell, he made Archetypes like Shai and herself look grand. Then again, Apodians had a strange aesthetic; Hagar knew among other races she was quite nice to look at without even trying. But that kid, universally ugly as the depths of Hell. She tried to recall the exact name of the Wayward as she found her newest clients staring about. The large hulking figure jogged her memory instantly.

"Zarkon?"

At the sound of his name, he turned with a flourish. "Hagar, Spell-Sister of Shai, I am in need of your services." He flicked the used gold ring at her.

"Smooth as ever, I see," she arched an eyebrow, catching it with her free hand. She looked at his fellow traveler, a human a foot taller than she. She looked winded from the spell, but gave a formal curtsy in the witch's direction. "At least someone around here knows etiquette." She admonished Zarkon, "That spell was for you and you alone."

"Yes, I used it for my purposes. She's involved."

"Don't you mean 'they'?"

Zarkon groaned. "Was I THE LAST person in the Universe to know?" he shouted, exasperated.

"Relax, Zarkon, the spell enables me to know the exact amount of people using it."

"Ten credits says your demon cat spilled the beans," he crossed his arms. "Demonic Messaging, the wave of the future," he deadpanned. "And it's King Zarkon now."

"Oh?" Hagar's interest piqued. "Of what?"

"More planets than you have," he grinned .

"I don't have any planets of my own," she fumbled. "And good idea to insult a witch after barging into her home. I have a good mind to turn you into a three-eyed frog and give this girl the number of a good attorney." Suddenly warm with anger, Hagar threw her hood back, exposing her blond hair.

Borrhéan gasped. The woman was breathtaking, her pale hair lovely against her short olive green fur. Such strange people Zarkon knew. And the banter, she had never seen anyone survive talking to him with half the bile of this enchantress. A lump formed in her throat, and she felt strands of her own hair, wondering for the first time if he had a fetish for blondes as well as deformities.

"I apologize for my husband's temper. This has been very difficult and requires delicate expertise," she bowed at her possible savior.

"My condolences, my dear," Hagar ignored the scowling monarch as she bowed in turn. "I am Witch Hagar, Greatest Shaman of the Denubian Frontier, Professor Emeritus of the Serinzen Academy's Complex Affinities Department," she announced herself, yellow sparks undulating about her. They faded as she finished with, "You may simply call me, Hagar."

"Or Hag-gar, that always worked for me," Zarkon mumbled, and only the sensitive ears of Coba picked it up as he ventured back into the foyer, growling his reply.

"I am Borrhéan, of Tyrus and Dhm," she embraced the witch. "You are right, this is no time for formality. If you can help us, you will truly be family."

"There there, child," Hagar crooned as tears glossed Borrhéan's face, though she barely looked a day older than the woman she consoled. She stroked her head. "How can Hagar help? Is it about the child?" She nodded.

"I want to ensure that the child is born with," Zarkon took a deliberate pause, "as few sequelae as possible."

"I gather that an extra finger is the least of your concerns," Hagar acknowledged. "First, we discuss payment terms. "

"I was expecting as much," Zarkon frowned.

"My teaching career has always been a non-event since I cannot set foot on Apodia. My expertise and skill could be of great use to a king such as yourself. I want a permanent position in your court, my own laboratory designed for my needs, with equipment for robotics, life science, and my magic arts."

"Is that all?" he replied, his tone dripping sarcasm.

"Perfection has its price, Your Majesty," Hagar used the epithet matter-of-factly. "Are we in agreement, then?"

Zarkon nodded, complacent.

"I, the Face of Dhmfidr, welcome you to the Court of the D'Ekkaté Dynasty," he boomed, purposefully embellishing. "Now, about this?" he gestured to Borrhéan in a strikingly quiet query.

She asked Borrhéan, "May I?" as she moved her palm to the woman's belly. Borrhéan nodded. Her hand glowed yellow as she felt the waves of unborn life cascade into her. It was quite different from other instances she was hired for magical midwifery. Strange enough that she would have to do some scientific testing as well.

"You are a couple of months along, but as for the overall health of the child, I will need to do some additional tests. Strong pairs of heartbeats mean that it is doing well for now."

"Pairs of heartbeats?" Borrhéan repeated, fear on her face.

Hagar nodded and gave a fierce look at Zarkon, who was dumbfounded. "Like your husband, the older types have two organs to push their blood around. He should have told you that much at least." Her look softened. "I can tell you the gender of the child, that won't change."

Zarkon nodded, and Borrhéan held her breath, holding his hand for support; he gripped in kind.

"If all goes well, you'll have a son."

"One son, two hearts," Zarkon whispered. He closed his eyes. "We're too late." His grip loosened.

"By the Litterbox of Bast, he's going down like a tree!" Coba squealed, finding himself inopportunely behind him. He shot out of the way as the two women's strength failed to keep the fainting father-to-be from hitting the floor.

"What are you doing?"

Hagar did not look up as she levitated her supplies to her right. "Obtaining a few samples, of course. His basic blood is fairly common around these parts, so medical equipment around here can accommodate it just fine." She plucked the hovering tyrillium needle as she pulled the sleeve up his arm, groaning at the undershirt's long sleeves tightly bound around his wrists.

"He's very secretive about this type of thing. If he finds out you did this..." Borrhéan's voice trailed off as she looked anxiously at her husband's unconsciously calm face.

Hagar sighed impatiently. "My dear, aren't you a bit curious as to what he's hiding beneath all of this? I can tell you I've had an interest since I first saw him as a rather foolhardy boy. I know what he is, but I don't know HOW he is, and," she looked up at Borrhéan's confused face before undressing Zarkon's arm, "judging by the look on your face, you are more clueless than I about it." Gently rolling up the now free undersleeve, she placed the glass-like needle onto his skin, bevel up as she penetrated his vein. Dark, black blood filled the glass tubes that she methodically collected in succession, before removing the needle; instantly, the tiny puncture healed. "He won't even notice," Hagar smiled reassuringly to herself. Looking at his hair, tweezers flew to her left hand with a trail of odorless green smoke. Gingerly she plucked both dark and pale strands, placing them into separate plastic specimen bags. "Besides, this may be necessary for your child's well-being, and isn't that what is most important?" the witch crooned.

Borrhéan's fair brows furrowed.


	3. You take the hand and you break it, boy

These Remains

**by Kyence**

**Song by Buzz McCoy & Groovie Mann**

Published by SleazeBox Music / BMI

Vocals - Groovie Mann

**Keys & Programming – Buzz McCoy**

**Part III: You take the hand and you break it boy**

"All hail Crown Prince Lotor, Heir to Dhm!" King Zarkon proclaimed to his court as he held his infant child aloft. The throne room was packed with a throng of his loyal subjects, ecstatic and cheering, whooping and hollering. The child's innocent pale blue face scrunched as he wailed. "Ah, powerful lungs, I expected nothing less," the proud father said to the tired yet equally proud mother, his fangs glinting with an overcast of paternal pride. Hagar stood to the king's left, her Advisor position secured. To Borrhéan's right was Commander Yurak, the Supreme Commander-in-chief of the Kingdom's military forces. Hagar smirked underneath her red cowl: he was simplistic in his loyalty, especially since after a few conversations with her employer she learned that he would have been Zarkon's successor before Borrhéan's biological clock got the better of her, and yet he was the happiest of all. All clueless, all manipulated.

"They are pleased, sire. The royal family line is secured. May the Dhm Kingdom prosper for a thousand years!" Yurak held up his cybernetic arm as he boomed his words, signaling the subjects to raise their voices in a louder cheer.

Hagar cackled, certain no one could hear over the outpour of euphoria that permeated the vast kingdom as live video feed broadcasted the event.

"Are we amusing you?" Zarkon cast a patronizing gaze on her. Borrhéan could not hear the exchange, but the expressions were enough. She was beaming with joy over her perfect son, with his delicate white wisps of hair, his tiny pointy ears, and his bright yellow eyes. His ten perfect fingers and ten divine little toes, and complete acceptance from his future kingdom and, most importantly, his father. This happy moment took much effort and risk to achieve, but it was worth it. With Hagar's help, she would do her utmost to keep it that way. The faint barbs being traded between the witch and monarch were another sparring in an endless match; surprisingly, Zarkon was in better spirits after each one, and as time passed, Hagar seemed just as satisfied. King Zarkon would have slain anyone else who dared interrupt and mock this occasion; Yurak gave his Queen a questioning glance as similar observations passed through his natural and artificial eyes. Borrhéan shook her head to dissuade any subversive action on his part. She gestured to Zarkon, that she may hold her son. Outstretching her hands, she gave him a wide, pleased smile.

Zarkon's lips were tight as he held Lotor closer to his chest, and turned away, sitting on his throne, halting his conversation with Hagar. "Honestly, Borrhéan, you've held him for countless months. Be patient, as I have." Borrhéan lowered her arms, alarmed yet using all her effort to keep it from being visible enough to alert the crowd something was amiss. Her fists clenched by her sides as she took her adjacent seat beside him. The smug look she caught for a fleeting moment on the witch's face startled her, but the following one of understanding and pity was enough to convince herself Hagar was still an ally, not a foe. Or rival.

Coba, snuggling in his witch's arms the entire time, felt it poignant to mew a comment. "Foolish woman, isn't she?"

--

"You have to help me."

Hagar looked at the pleading face of her Queen. Her Majesty's face was streaked with tears, her hair astray, her makeup running. Her pale skin was nearly translucent, save for the dark rings around her eyes. Even by Hagar's concept of beauty, Borrhéan looked terrible. "What troubles you, Your Majesty?"

Borrhéan's hands kneaded a fistful of her gown. "He's going to send him away. He's going to send him away!"

Hagar's eyes widened in comprehension, "Ah, Zarkon has decided it is time to indoctrinate his son independent of you, hmm?"

Borrhéan sank to her knees. "Lotor is all I have now. Zarkon...he never speaks to me anymore, barely acknowledges me. When he does, it's as if he's accusing me, challenging me to damage my beloved son." She held her head in her hands. "How could these years have gone so wrong so quickly? What have I done to make him hate me so?"

Hagar rolled her eyes, confident that the despondent woman could not see it. "It is not YOU, my dear, it is HIM. It has taken me quite some time, but I think I know what troubles him. He is rather unique." Her eyes sparkled with an idea. She knelt down before Borrhéan, gently propping her chin up with a sleek, green finger. "What happens to a bird when its wings are tied to its body? To a shark unable to swim, to a wolf tethered to a rock?"

Borrhéan's moist voice came out a whisper, "In the wild? They die."

Hagar nodded. "No one can deny their true nature forever, no matter how much they hate it or fear it. It is time for Zarkon to learn that lesson."

Borrhéan stiffened. "How?"

Hagar's thin smile was cruel. "By exposing him for what he is. Once he knows that We, You, know, you can ask for your son to stay by your side for your silence and continued loyalty. After all, a true spouse and true love will keep the darkest of secrets for their other half."

The queen stood up gracefully, her thoughts deep as she fixed her hair and dried her tears with a skull-embossed kerchief.

Hagar continued,"You are capable of this, likely more than I. After all, wasn't it you who single-handedly orchestrated the entire conception of Prince Lotor? Where has that strong will gone? For your son's sake, you must remind your husband of your importance," she pointed at her with emphasis.

Coba strolled about, nuzzling about the queen's dress, wiping his scent on her. "Very convincing speech, Hagar. You almost had me convinced you actually care!" he meowed, twitching his tail in a spastic manner before bolting away at the sound of her staff hitting the floor.

Borrhéan nodded. "What must I do?"

--

"I had a good time today, mama," Lotor gleefully admitted to Borrhéan as she readied to tuck him into bed, shooing away his nanny.

"I'm glad you did, honey," she cooed as she stroked a loose lock of hair sitting defiantly on his forehead. "Planet Opachre is a much brighter, prettier place than Dhm, I think."

Lotor pouted. "Didja have to say it's "prettier?" That makes it sound so girly human-like."

She chuckled, and gave him a playful tap on his button nose with her fingertip. "Oh, so you don't like girly humans like me?"

Lotor sat up in bed, the lock of hair bouncing. He touched her nose in the same manner. "Nah, you're okay, Mama." He smiled broadly, one of his baby canines poking out from his upper lip.

"I should hope so," she held her arms akimbo, looking playfully affronted. "I think I have to teach you a lesson. I summon the tickling robeast," she growled as she began the giggle-inducing assault.

Coba, perched atop the unlit chandelier, swallowed a feline moan as his surveillance traveled to Hagar's crystal ball, who moaned enough for them both.

"Uggh, so sweet my teeth are rotting," she flicked her cowl off her head, fidgeting with her blond hair. "Get on with it, Borrhéan! You're wasting time."

Lotor, throughly tickled out, yawned as he hugged his mother. She hugged him tighter. "Have you spoken to your father about going away?'

He pulled back, his face excited yet mature in demeanor for his young face. "Pa-Tr says it's important for me to go to this special academy for young and gifted Duonulans. I am the Crown Prince, so he says I have to show by example that I am the most gifted of all!" he held his hands out, his arms reaching for the ceiling. "I won't let him down!"

"How modest," Hagar quipped to herself.

Borrhéan put a hand on her son's shoulder. "I know you won't, my little prince. Now, time for bed."

He obediently rested his head on the pillow as she neatly tucked the rich sheets and blankets. With a kiss on his forehead, she said, "Good night."

"'Night!"

She left his room, the doors closing behind her and an elusive Coba who easily found new cover. As nonchalant as she could be, she headed to her husband's study. The palace they were in was smaller and less imposing than Castle Dhm was, designed more for lazy comfort than an impenetrable fortress built to withstand meteor attacks. This world was also King Zarkon's birthplace, though exactly which hemisphere he heralded from was anybody's guess. As she had instructed, the servant girl was waiting outside the study, holding a tray with an ornate teapot and two cups. The girl was an attractive Argusian, who likely shared her people's penchant for precognition; she was trembling.

"Your Majesty," the slave-girl stammered, rattling the tray's contents.

"I will take that, " Borrhéan handled the tray. She gave a reassuring smile. "There's nothing to be fearful over." The slave rubbed her arms, her skimpy outfit doing little in the way of warmth. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"You are dismissed."

The slave bowed and hurried down the corridor. Borrhéan took a moment to catch her breath; she was more nervous than she'd realized. One step closer to the door activated them, with a flanking pair of Hagar's new robotic soldiers just inside. "Queen Borrhéan," their electronic voices announced. Zarkon's voice was distant as he replied, "As you were." She inched past them, not fond of their facsimile of the Eastern Dhmk peoples. Surely they deserved more respect than this?

"Good evening, my dear wife. How goes the coddling pretense?"

She returned his snide inquiry with a cold smile. "As always. My son was happy to see me."

He frowned as she placed the tray on the table that sat square between the two chaises. Borrhéan sat in the empty one as Zarkon regarded the tea with interest. "Interesting, you wish to talk, I assume?" His bound, striped hair was plaited down his back, the end coming about to rest on his thigh.

She nodded, and went to pour herself some tea. He watched her intently as she poured herself a cup and sipped it without flourish.

"Really, Borrhéan, this is a sad attempt." He lifted himself from his chaise and flicked the unused cup over his shoulder, bouncing once on the rug before splitting on the second impact with a muted crack. He grabbed the teapot by the handle and raised it. "Lacing the cup with poison, are we?"

Borrhéan frowned. "I would never try to kill you, Zarkon. I care for you, don't you understand that?" She gulped down the remaining tea in her cup as she reached for the pot. "May I have some more?" she asked firmly. He paused, his face frozen as his eyes focused on something distant. He nodded and poured her a cup. He stared at her lips as she sipped in even intervals. Several minutes passed in virtual silence before he shrugged and poured some directly into his mouth, smacking his lips together. He unsteadily placed the teapot on the table as he touched his own lips.

She lowered her cup. "What is the matter?"

"My lips...are numb," he managed to say before his tongue became useless. He sat down onto the chaise, but his leg muscles began to stiffen, his arms following suit. His mind was too groggy for him to be angry. The margins of his sight darkened and closed about him as his hearing ability gradually decreased to nothingness. He closed his eyes.

"King Zarkon!" the guards readied their weapons as Borrhéan could not remove her eyes from him. "It was just a few drops of apple cider vinegar," she whispered incredulously. She saw yellow light out of her peripheral vision. She needed not turn to know the source. "Hagar."

"I was beginning to think you were going to abort the plan," Hagar replied. The witch glided over the remains of her robots to the incapacitated king. "Interesting weakness, isn't it? Inalegans and Opachrian Natives can't handle vinegars, messes with their basic blood chemistry. It causes temporary paralysis in low doses, permanent or lethal in higher concentrations: it was how the Drules were able to enslave them. You never wondered why their drinks are fermented differently, or why salad dressing is unheard of?"

"It...it won't kill him, will it?"

"Oh, my, you still are the sweetest thing in this kingdom," Hagar sneered, distorting her feminine looks. "He will be out for an hour or so, plenty of time to get him ready for the big reveal."

With that, Hagar removed the crown from his head, placing it regally on the table. Gripping the clasp on his red cape, she cleared her throat. "A little help, Borrhéan? Gods only knows how many layers he's wearing."


	4. It’s not gonna change my mind

These Remains

**by Kyence**

**Song by Buzz McCoy & Groovie Mann**

Published by SleazeBox Music / BMI

Vocals - Groovie Mann

**Keys & Programming – Buzz McCoy**

**Part IV: It's not gonna change my mind**

Zarkon heard the mumble of two female voices. The content was at first difficult for his muddled head to understand. He rubbed his head, sighing as he sat up. And saw his giant webbed feet exposed for all the Universe to see.

"As you can see here, his feet are palmate, but due to foot binding, his back toe is permanently twisted to the side to simulate a plantigrade gait."

"Amazing! Look, I didn't know he had twelve toes. Ten webbed. Are you saying he's supposed to walk like a bird or a cat, and not flat on his feet?"

"Seems as much. Fascinating, never knew his ancestral race had this anatomical structure. Must be painful, contributing to his perpetually sour mood."

"What is the meaning of this?" he bellowed, futilely clasping his feet with his hands. His skin flushed, darkening.

"What about his hands, he doesn't have webs on his fingers?" Borrhéan asked, oblivious to his discomfort.

Hagar pointed at them. "Look closely: the webs were cut away, the wounds likely cauterized several times to inhibit regeneration." Both women gave him a pitying look that made Zarkon want to vomit. He rubbed his head, noticing that his arms were bare. His clothes were removed, and he was underneath a pale sheet. One hand holding the sheet around his lower body, his opposite arm extending its fins and spines, he quickly leaped off the chaise, jumping and landing with only his toes on the floor. Despite his knees slightly bent, his arched feet increased his height. His chest gills rhythmically fluttered from his excited state.

"By the Gods, he's faster and taller! Amazing," Borrhéan exclaimed, her acclamation honest. "No wonder you have never lost in hand-to-hand combat; you are an unstoppable machine."

He cringed at the term 'machine,' his eyes spilling an angry violet haze that matched the energy jolting from his spines. "I am going to...kill you both!"

"No, you aren't, so stop blustering," Hagar retorted as Borrhéan paled at the threat. "Your physical modesty is very cute, though." He replied with a growl.

Hagar held up an electronic storage device. "Ah-ha!" Hagar said with a firm smile. "You are a sublime work, a walking marvel, my friend. No wonder that diviner, Reyk, went ballistic trying to find you after your father died."

Zarkon stiffened at the paternal term. His throat was dry, his tongue sticky. The air thickened about him. "What is so special?" he made his query sound smooth and nonchalant, as though the information she had learned was routine. He tried to read Borrhéan's reaction, but he could not decide if she was scared, awed or disgusted. He started pacing, never losing sight of the two women.

Hagar's eyebrows raised as she pushed a button on the drive so that a projection, a colorful printout of his genome, decorated the closest wall. "Tetragametic chimerism of two hybridized zygotes: they must have fused, one engulfing the other." His brow furrowed, forming unattractive folds of skin flanking his sinus crest. "That means what?"

"Hybrids are different from chimeras, and you are both. You have two distinct Duonulan genomes in your body: some cells of your body have one set of DNA, others the other, and most of your body likely has a varied mix of both. Your hair, for example," she pointed upward, "the white is from one cell line, the black, the other. Depending on which follicle was used for DNA testing, you could have two completely different profiles. Your blood happens to have two populations, no doubt causing hell in profiling using that method." She scanned his face, giving time for her words to seep in. "One zygote had predominantly Drule genes for the hybrid: this is also the one that led to your reproductive system. You never had anything major to fear: a child can never come out looking like you. Frankly, cloning you is impossible. The over-expression of Opachrian Native genes has prolonged your life and your prime, but if one cell population starts dying before the other, you will have a rapid senescence. Rather poetic, for the Face of Dhmfidr, the duality goddess, no?"

Borrhéan clasped her hands as though she were praying. Zarkon shook with fury.

"All I can suggest is ensuring no one gets a hold of that second set of DNA. You practically mummify yourself in the name of fashion, and your blood destroys and degrades on contact, so all you really have to worry about is your hair."

"Enough with you! You speak as if you are different. Borrhéan, do you know why she lived on that satellite world and not on Apodia?" his voice full of malice. She shook her head as Hagar held her arms akimbo.

He pointed a finger at the sorceress, its nail crackling with the electricity gathered at its tip. "She can't handle the gravity there, so she's spent her entire life hopping from planet to planet, trying to come to terms with the fact that the hybrid construct SHE is, is a failed experiment, and nothing more." He laughed malevolently.

"You want to take me on, boy?" Hagar challenged with her staff, aiming it at him.

"Hagar, what are you doing?" Borrhéan cried out. Zarkon pulled her behind him. He grabbed the plush rug and pulled it with all his strength. Hagar cursed as she lost her balance. He slammed his palms on the metal floor, his anger fueling a strong surge of current that shocked the witch as she hit the floor. Borrhéan smelled burnt hair.

Hagar gasped and lurched once the charge dissipated; it had been strong enough to silence any screams of pain she had. She propped herself up with her staff. "Well...done." Her green fur was tinged about her face and fingers, her red dress the same. The strong burning scent made her eyes water more than the tingling aftermath did and she sneezed.

"I may not be a magician or a sorcerer, but I use what I have only when I have to. I am no one's puppet. Or pet," he turned his attention on Borrhéan.

Her face was blank as she prepared herself for the final phase of the plan. "I won't say anything, I think you are, are..." her voice trailed off as she readied her nerve, "Is it true that you can heal?"

Zarkon was aghast. "Hagar!" he rumbled.

"You are going to wake your son; do you want him to see you like this?" Hagar regained her composure, flicking her right hand towards the door.

"Zarkon," Borrhéan called gently. He turned, his mouth clenched tight. "I only want my son by my side. He is too young to go to any academy, I don't care how smart he is. Please, only a couple of years; he ages slower than I, it will not harm him, but it would mean the Universe to me."

"And if I refuse?" he loomed over her, his chest gills useless in the air but working in earnest from his agitation. He held a forearm inches away from her throat, the small fin spines tickling her throat as she exhaled. "Will you consign me to a life of experimentation by the Drules or the Galaxy Alliance? You had better think your answer through, for if I'm such a specimen, then so is Lotor."

"You won't refuse, though, will you?" Borrhéan stated plainly.

"Answer the question," he snarled.

"You first."

"No. I have been violated here. You have betrayed me. I have tolerated you long enough. You do what I say, now!"

Borrhéan stepped back. "You have never loved me, have you?"

Zarkon retreated as well, finding his undergarments and redressing. Hagar kept quiet, watching the moments pass with keen yellow eyes.

"I thought that I was a kindred spirit, someone like you." Borrhéan added. Her eyes were downcast.

"A freak, you mean? A pariah?" he countered, fixing his belt over his dark robe.

She bit her lip.

"I'll admit your former wit and unique physique was charming, but I also chose you because I knew you and your family were desperate enough to marry you off and that I wouldn't have a chance in conceiving with a human, thus giving me plenty of time to groom whatever successor I wanted." He grimaced at her as he lightly jostled his crown in his hands. "I just never expected you to be so _persistent."_

Borrhéan's legs shivered as she removed a hypodermic needle from an inner pocket of her dress. "Is that so?" She removed the plastic cap with her teeth.

Hagar sat down in Borrhéan's chaise, tapping her thigh.

Zarkon acknowledged the needle. "What are you going to do with that?" he asked quietly.

"You can heal people."

Zarkon sighed and nodded. "Only small things. There, you happy?"

"But you don't."

He shrugged. "Why should I? It's not my nature. I've told you before, Borrhéan, don't humanize me. I can't be changed, I WON'T be changed by any of you."

"Not even for your son's mother?"

"Mothers, bah," he spat. "They do their part and then they leave, their offspring pick up their tab."

Borrhéan held up the needle. "I don't want to leave my son, you are forcing it."

Zarkon's look was considering. "You will not abandon him?"

She shook her head.

"Then it won't matter if he spends three years at the special academy then," he said with finality.

Hagar closed her eyes and mumbled a low spell. Borrhéan's hand injected the needle into her stomach.

"What?" Borrhéan said dumbfounded as she pulled it out of her. "I changed my mind. I didn't, I didn't..."

Zarkon grasped her by the shoulders as the needle fell to the floor. "What have you done?" He caught her as she collapsed, twitching. "You won't," she managed.

"Heal her," Hagar approached them. A kneeling Zarkon looked up at her. "I won't. I'll give her her freedom." He turned back and held Borrhéan in his arms. "She almost had me convinced." He laid her down on the floor. Zarkon rolled up his sleeve and with a quick slash from his spines, his long plaited hair fell to the ground. He wove it around Borrhéan's arms.

"She lived to hear my secret, now she can spend eternity with it."

He never saw the look of satisfaction on Hagar's face.


End file.
